Becky Bakes…

There is a standing joke that if a good friend asks what we’re having for dinner the chances are it will be chicken! For many years famous chefs have exhorted us to buy the free-range, well-flavoured chickens sold by butchers rather than the mass produced birds found in all the supermarkets. I did this recently, paying a huge sum for quite a large chicken – my goodness, it needed to be good! We were expecting a delicious bird, tender, without too much fat…..you get the idea. All I can say is that we were extremely disappointed. It took ages to cook, was tough and tasted very”gamey”, not nice at all. So now I buy from the supermarket – whichever one is chosen that day – and feel no anxiety about my choice. More recently a trip to a local shop resulted in an amazing deal. They were offering 3 for £10 – not big chickens, but British and perfect for my plans. Each of these would make an inexpensive meal for a family, with two in the freezer for later perhaps in these straightened times. So, we need to buy according to our tastes and pockets without being critical of others and whilst ethics and policies matter, let’s buy what’s right for us without being browbeaten and feeling guilty.

With the relaxation of some Covid restrictions, I am really looking forward to a trip to the hairdresser and will be hot-footing it to her early on Monday morning. After that, a stroll through town is needed. I’ve done some on-line shopping, but there’s nothing like the ability to see and feel something I might choose to buy. To try clothes on, compare, ponder, wander away then come back and decide it’s the right thing – or not. The chance meeting with an old friend is precious and maybe a coffee, or more likely a cup of tea, over which we can chat and catch up after so long. All of these are treats I have missed and look forward to. But what about those people feeling less confidant? This attempt at a return to normality will be a mountain for some to climb and I suspect will happen slowly for some. At the same time there has been an increase in the workload for my tech-team, installing equipment, testing electricals and working for families during their saddest times so they can share their grief with others around the world. All this means a new man behind the camera…..did you notice? By the way, when I first met him 47 years ago we were both watching when a Chieftain tank fell off a low-loader in the presence of The Duke of Edinburgh. I couldn’t see The Duke’s reaction, but I bet he laughed…! What a man.

Whatever your plans for this weekend, I hope you have a lovely time. There’s so much to do today and so little time to do it that I’m making an early start. A veggie layer bake to put together so it can cook with the turkey (not needed at Christmas) later today and potato salad to make for lunch. Lemon bakewell was made yesterday and cooked alongside the fish parcels, which were delicious and so easy. In the midst of all this we found the leak in the pond liner, but now that needs to be sorted out. Just when you want the garden to look at it’s best, the secateurs jump out of the jacket pocket and create havoc. Never mind, the plants needed to be divided and rid of a rampant weed that took hold. Thank goodness the rainwater barrels are full – the hose pipe will shortly be connected and the lost water replaced…all 12″ of it! Must dash! Bx

Whilst it’s easy to remember delicious meals in our favourite places, it’s often harder to remember the less enjoyable ones. The reappearance of some long forgotten photos reminded me of school trips (not the falling over varieties!) to interesting cities – Barcelona, Turin and Tallinn immediately sprang to mind. There seemed to be a reluctance among the staff to volunteer for the exchange visit to Estonia, so when invited I decided to accept. Bearing in mind I really don’t like snow, it was either brave or foolish. So armed with thermals, a duvet coat and very thick boots I was well equipped. Over the weekend the children were entertained by the host families and we were free to explore – having to be out all day as guests of the head teacher. Tramping through waist-high snow to visit a sick pupil led to the need for a medicinal brandy in a bar where my colleague became engrossed in a rugby match on TV. The young woman sharing our table looked across and asked if I was Mrs.C who taught her in Hemel Hempstead – well, yes, I was! Later that day a meal at the Old Hansa restaurant was interesting with staff dressed in traditional costumes and the few candles making it impossible to read the menu. In desperation I chose the “special”. Not my best decision. Wild boar sausages with lumpy mashed potatoes and (the best part) lingenberry sauce. I’d previously had boar sausages with polenta in Milan and hadn’t liked them that time either. The views across the frozen sea to Finland and produce sold from the Sunday market in wooden sheds, the artisan bookbinder and the hat maker, an evening at the ballet and the amazing fish are much sunnier memories of that trip.

The first house we rented near Milan was a four-story monstrosity with a mansard roof, all created from concrete. The absence of rafters meant we had a vast open space to set up a model train set and my sewing machine under the skylights. Occasionally I would catch sight of “Balcony Bill” and his wife who lived in the adjacent apartment – especially when their kitchen light was on. I soon discovered that every day , around 11.30 a.m., she would start to make pasta for lunch. A large wooden board covered the table and she began to work eggs into the mountain of flour, her fork methodically working round and round until she could begin to knead. Eventually she rolled the dough with a very skinny rolling pin, then folded it and rolled again. When she was happy with the texture she gave it a final fold and used a huge sharp knife to cut narrow slices, shaking out the ribbons and dusting them with flour before hanging them to dry on pegs – imagine a very tall mug tree. Half an hour later she’d boil the broth or stock and drop them in. Balcony Bill would appear ready to sprinkle lots of Parmesan cheese on top and devour a large bowl full for lunch. Dessert, taken on the balcony, was always fruit – a peach, a couple of apricots or nespole (lowquats) followed by a cigarette. Then he’d disappear again, leaving Mrs. Bill to clear up. It was a fascinating insight into the locals way of life, but we never knew their names nor they ours. Simply a nod or a wave was the extent of our conversation – although one day Mrs.Bill shouted a question – “Hai vista la lenzuole?” Have you seen my bed sheet? It had disappeared from her balcony, taken by the wind, never to be seen again!

March was always a busy month when I was growing up- my birthday, my mother’s birthday and also Mothering Sunday. With my granny living with us, we were always careful to include her in everything, especially Mothering Sunday. She’d been an orphan and so had missed out on so much – spoiling us rotten as only a grandparent can get away with.She happily took me to see “The Sound of Music” five times because she always fell asleep and missed huge chunks of the film. Eventually we decided she’d seen most of it after the fifth trip. Mum happily stitched yards and yards of tulle on her hand machine to create tutu’s, both short and long, based on sketchy drawings from my dance teacher. She cooked delicious meals and melt-in-the-mouth pastry, but always remained the grown-up amongst the three of us. That’s so important as children need to respect their parents, not expect them to be their best friend. There is a great deal of wisdom needed in the upbringing of a child and certainly home-schooling will have tested many relationships. How sad though, to read that many children have regressed not only in their literacy but in being able to use cutlery too. Why on earth is it the schools’ job to teach a child how to use a knife and fork? I’ve had to do it myself in various schools – even having to teach a child how to chew lumpy food……Parenting is a skill and a privilege, not a chore.

It’s not just because the warmer weather is making the plants and bulbs start to bloom that everything’s looking rosier, is it? The prospect of lock-down easing is on the horizon and with that the return of some normality to our lives at last. Pondering on the opposite of “lock down” my mind went through a whole series of possibilities ; “lock-up” certainly doesn’t work; “unlock” might do, and then of course, there’s “release”. But whatever we decide to call it, it’s coming and we still have to be patient…easier for some than others, I know. We can start to think and plan for the heady days of meeting friends and family again. Food is always high on my agenda and, crazily you might think, we have a turkey in the freezer which wasn’t needed at Christmas. The lighter, longer days mean that travelling isn’t quite so arduous and give us more daylight hours to just be together and enjoy a meal. So it won’t be Christmas dinner, but with gifts still to be exchanged, this year Easter will be a multi-purpose celebration!

You might have noticed that we shared two videos this week so you could make shortcrust pastry and use it for a savoury flan. There was just too much content for a single video so we had to decide where to make the split. I’m sure many of us had a whole morning or afternoon at school for lengthy tasks like this, which were classified as “basic skills”, but the young people of today have less time to spend on such activities. All this leads me to think that whilst it’s a skill, it certainly isn’t basic. It may also be the case that being able to reach down a pack of ready-made pastry from the supermarket shelf is good enough – but it isn’t. Commercial shortcrust is rarely good enough, in my experience. Hence the video. Quite often I will use a pack of ready-made puff pastry and only last week a friend asked me to explain the differences between puff, rough puff and flaky. It’s all about how the large proportion of fat is incorporated into the dough. Puff has frozen butter flattened between 2 sheets of greaseproof paper, rough puff has all the chunks added at once and flaky has it added gradually making it the easiest to handle. Another skill that isn’t basic. So we made another video to show you how to make flaky pastry. Choose a day when you’ve asked yourself “What shall I do next?”, then make and freeze your pastry to chill it and improve the texture so that the next time you make a sausage plait or pesto puffs you can use your home-made block of pastry. Remember to thaw it overnight in the fridge and layer the scraps (if you have any) to re-roll and make some cheese whirls. x

Last week seemed to fly by – not such a bad thing perhaps if it means another week towards the end of the current restrictions. There wasn’t much in the diary ( we already have several videos ready to share) so the long -awaited arrival of the new sewing machine was a welcome sight. It makes all sorts of noises and has lights that flash, reminding me of a programme our children enjoyed, so it may be known as Bertha. During the week I also enjoyed several long chats with friends far and near. Thank goodness for phones and now Zoom too with technology being all that some people have in order to maintain contact with others. Better weather and the thawing of all the snow allows for time looking for weeds and admiring primroses and early bulbs. At one point I was asked if I was bored. That B-word has rarely been used in our house, instead we prefer the question of what can be done next? There’s always something to move on to whether it be knitting, crochet, sewing or a book to finish…you get my drift. Not only craft projects, but some friends are working as volunteers, helping find empty car parking spaces for those arriving for their vaccines, for example. Unsung heroes, all of them. People finding something very valuable to do and certainly not complaining of being bored…………….Have you noticed the changes to the website over the past few days? The Wizard has been busy too!

For some years we lived in a small town between Milan and Lake Como. The appearance of snow on the mountain peaks heralded the start of winter – and my goodness, it was cold. Adjacent to our house was a small apartment block with shops on the ground floor, one of which was a tiny artisan mozzarella cheese maker. Every Monday and Thursday morning, at around 7 o’clock a milk tanker would arrive and pump its water buffalo milk into their enormous stainless steel troughs. Rennet and other mysterious ingredients were added, then heat was applied so that curds and whey would appear. The curds were stretched to create the characteristic stringiness of the mozzarella, then balls were shaped and left to float in the whey. When the process was finished a klaxon would sound, usually at about 11.30 am. and from nowhere, customers would appear, mostly ladies and smartly dressed. Some would arrive on bicycles and if it was raining they would hang their handbag on the handlebars, hold an umbrella and pedal in a sedate manner.The cheese would be ladled into a plastic bag with enough whey to keep it moist, a knotted handle created and the cheese would swing from the brake lever as they rode home. What a sight! Yet we never saw any water buffalo grazing – where do they live? Do they live hidden from sight with their diet carefully regulated, like the cows that produce milk for Parmesan? Now that’s another story.